


This Is the Story of a Boy, Part II: Too Long Defending

by patchfire, raving_liberal



Series: Story of Three Boys [10]
Category: Glee
Genre: Brothership, Kleak-up, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-28
Updated: 2011-07-28
Packaged: 2017-10-21 21:01:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/229817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patchfire/pseuds/patchfire, https://archiveofourown.org/users/raving_liberal/pseuds/raving_liberal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the story of a boy; this is the story of three boys. Two brothers, two best friends, two lovers.</p><p>Summary for Part II: Now Puck has to start thinking about a few things. Also, Blaine has to go away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to everyone who has been reading on LiveJournal.
> 
>  
> 
> [playlist for this part](http://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL5936747E13A6DB34)

Over the weekend, Puck's mom asks him what hours he'll be working over the summer, because she has to plan to send Hannah to camp if he won't be home during the day. He realizes that he hasn't thought about it and promises to bring it up with his manager, which he does on Monday afternoon.

"I thought you might like to know soon. You interested in working more hours?"

"Sure. As many as you need me."

"I'd like you to work eight-hour shifts over the summer. Do you prefer opening or closing? Honest, now."

Puck frowns and thinks. It makes more sense to say closing, because he wouldn't have to get up so early, but opening means leaving at 2 and having the rest of the afternoon and evening free. "Opening," he finally decides.

"All right. I'll leave you on Saturdays. Sunday mornings are already full. Which day during the week do you want to have off? Except not Friday, Tuesday, or Monday." She laughs.

"Wednesday."

"All right. We'll start this schedule the first full week of June. My college kids leave that week, so that's good."

His mom makes a face, but it's not like Puck could have watched Hannah all day even if he took the later shift. Hopefully she'll deal.

Tuesday afternoon he mooches a ride off Finn, because it's getting really warm, finally, and then shuts the door to his room, pulling out the two folders from Ms. Pillsbury and turning on his computer.

He didn't realize it at the time, but the moment he started talking about artists and poets and New York City, his mind was made up.

He doesn't just want to get out, he wants to get there.

A combination of his two favorite sites–Google and Wikipedia–results in a list of all the colleges and universities in New York City. He pulls out a piece of paper, flips through Ms. Pillsbury's pamphlets, and starts clicking.

He sits there for hours, interrupting himself to eat dinner and take a shower, then sits back down. He forces himself to do his homework and falls into bed.

He wakes up Wednesday with a problem about to take root in his head. His mom's still getting ready when Hannah pops into his room. "Noah?"

"Yeah, squirt?"

"Can I have my birthday party at the park this year? With everyone from my class, and maybe a theme other than balloons?" She rolls her eyes at the last.

Puck just nods. "Uh, yeah, I guess." Appeased, Hannah bounces back out, and Puck grimaces. Oh, fuck, what did he just agree to? Her birthday's in, oh, a week, and he's got finals before that.

 

Puck spends the morning wracking his brain for a solution, and it comes to him during calculus. Kurt. And Kurt said something about not being as good in math. Perfect. He spends lunch looking for him and finds him just at the end. "Kurt. Hey. Question."

Kurt just raises an eyebrow.

"What math are you taking?"

"Advanced Algebra Topics & Trigonometry."

Puck grins. "Awesome. I'll make you a deal."

"A deal?"

"You said something about math and dude, seriously, you said a box has four sides. Anyway, I'll help you study for your math final if you'll help me out."

"With what?" Kurt's voice is suspicious. "And what math are you in?"

"Calculus. And my sister's birthday party. It's kinda my job, not my mom's." Puck shrugs uncomfortably. "It's just that she specifically wanted something different than what I usually do. I dunno, maybe it's 'cause she's turning eight? Or maybe my parties are just really lame. But her birthday's next week, so I'm kinda panicking here."

"You know, I would've helped you without the offer of math help," Kurt smirks, "but since you're offering, I'll take it. When do you work again?"

"Monday, Wednesday, Saturday, for now. It'll change in a couple of weeks."

"So tomorrow afternoon, we study and then get your sister's party worked out?"

"Yeah. Awesome. Thanks, dude." Puck holds his fist up to bump, which Kurt does with a look of amusement. Puck watches Kurt walk down the hall, and if he's rubbing his hand absently over his knuckles, well.

He's still got to talk to Ms. Pillsbury. It's still not time to think about that.

 

Kurt sighs heavily and tosses his phone onto his desk, falling onto his bed rather loudly, the bed frame squeaking and the floor protesting.

“Dude,” Finn says, popping his head into Kurt’s room. “You ok? Sounds like something fell in here!”

Kurt lifts his head up. “Just me. Onto the bed. The bed didn’t appreciate it, apparently.”

“Oh,” Finn nods. “What? You trip or something?”

“No.” Kurt sighs again. “I’m just... frustrated, I guess. Remember what I told you last week?”

“Blaine?” Finn asks, tentatively. He looks like he’s worried to say the wrong thing.

“Yes.”

“You, um, need to talk about it?” Finn offers.

“Maybe.” Kurt rolls over and props his head up on one hand. “It’s like he can sense I’m uneasy. Or maybe I’m projecting. We keep fighting over the stupidest things. It’s not enough to call him, I should want to see him every day. Even though we have finals next week. _His_ finals are done.” Kurt snorts angrily. “He offered to help me study. For _French_. Me!”

Finn snorts. “You? You speak better French than French people.”

“Exactly! It would have been different if it was something I _actually_ needed help studying for.”

“It’s not cool,” Finn says, definitively. “He should butt out and let you study.”

“I’m supposed to meet him at the mall tomorrow evening. I’m not even sure why. I should want to go see him, but there’s only so many times we can wander around the mall, refusing to touch each other or hold each other’s gazes for long than the approved 3.5 seconds.”

“3.5 seconds? You guys time it?”

Kurt shakes his head. “Feels that way,” he says darkly.

“So, it’s just not going well at all, then,” Finn says, and it’s not really a question.

“No.” Kurt sighs. “I wanted the typical high-school romance, right?” he asks sardonically. “So I guess I’m getting all of it.”

“That sucks, dude. What are you gonna do about it?” Finn’s face is sympathetic, because he’s been there.

“I don’t know.” Kurt lets his head fall onto the bed. “It’s all very ironic.”

“Uh, ok,” Finn says. “I don’t really know what you mean, but can I give you a little advice?”

“Sure.”

“If someone else came to you and told you this was how their boyfriend was acting, like if Mercedes or Tina said that, what would you tell them to do?” Finn looks at Kurt levelly, trying to keep his face straight and not lead Kurt into any specific answer. “Or what if _I_ told you my girlfriend was doing that?”

Kurt raises one eyebrow. “I’d probably have a different answer for each of you, to be honest,” Kurt admits.

“Really?” Finn asks, surprised. “You’d have different answers to ‘my boyfriend doesn’t touch me and we can’t even look at each other and all we do is fight and I’m miserable all the time’?”

“That sounds stupid, I suppose, but yes. I would. Finn, you have had girls literally _fighting_ over you.” Kurt looks around the room dramatically. “People like Mercedes and I? We take what we can get, sometimes.”

“So you’d really tell someone you cared about, hey, go on and be treated like crap, ‘cause hey, it’s the best you’re gonna do!” Finn scrunches up his eyebrows. “‘Cause I hear you saying it, but I don’t buy it.”

“He doesn’t treat me like crap,” Kurt protests. “I mean. I know why he doesn’t want to do much in public, I think.” He pauses and gnaws at his lower lip.

“I’m not saying Blaine treats you like crap, but this whole ‘take what we can get’ stuff is BS. How far does that go? How far would you encourage a friend to let it go? Do you take what you can get for a little unhappy? Keep on taking it for a _big_ unhappy?” Finn looks...pissed. “It’s just a really dumb attitude and I’m surprised at you.”

Kurt looks away, flushing a little, but doesn’t respond verbally. He just shrugs uncomfortably and traces random patterns on the duvet with his finger.

“I know you think I don’t have any kind of room to talk,” Finn continues, when he sees Kurt isn’t going to answer, “and you know, maybe I don’t. Maybe I ought just shut up and leave you along, ‘cause I’m obviously, like, _really_ bad at this kind of talking. You just...you piss me off sometimes!” Finn sits down on Kurt’s bed in a huff.

“What?” Kurt jerks his head up.

“You heard me,” Finn says, stubbornly. “You piss me off. I am so sick of you selling yourself short.”

“I...” Kurt looks at Finn, dumbfounded, and then seems to recover a little. “You are probably the only person I know that would say that about me.”

“Well, then other people either don’t know you very well or they’re all dumb, too,” Finn says, sulkily, “and that’s saying something for _me_ to say that.”

Kurt sniffs. “Maybe so,” he finally says.

“Anyway, it’s not like I’m totally clueless about what’s going on, man,” Finn says. “This house doesn’t have the best insulation in the world.”

Kurt freezes for half a second before groaning. “Oh, kill me now. Please tell me my father hasn’t been listening to my phone calls, at least?”

“I don’t know anything about that,” Finn says. “I just know I’ve heard you stomping around and grumbling every time you see or talk to Blaine, and if I can figure it out from _that_...”

Kurt sighs. “You’re right,” he concedes, but deliberately doesn’t specify what Finn’s right about.

“Look, do whatever you’re gonna do,” Finn says, “because I know you are, but don’t keep on with this ‘take whatever I can get’ crap, ok? You and I both know you’re not going to be in Lima forever and if you settle now, you’re gonna feel really stupid later when you realize what you passed up.”

“Thanks, brother dear,” Kurt says, half-smiling and half-rolling his eyes. “I love when people tell me I’m going to feel stupid.” He half-heartedly punches Finn’s upper arm. “Not sure what I’m passing up, though.”

“I don’t know, either, ‘cause I’m not into dudes and I’m probably not getting out of Ohio,” Finn grins, “so how would I know what’s out there? Probably way better than what you’ve got here, though, I’d guess.”

Kurt sighs a little and the corners of his lips quirk up. “I might have looked around while we were in New York. Strictly for research purposes, of course.”

“See?” Finn chuckles. “Then you probably have some idea at least. You have to, like, open your eyes to all the possibilities out there, even the ones you can’t see yet. I think Schue said something like that.”

“Probably. Except knowing Schue, it was probably about hearing the music of possibilities and feeling their rhythm.”

“I’m pretty sure it was about Journey songs.”

“Everything is about Journey songs.”

“True that,” Finn laughs.

 

That excuse only works for so long, because after work, he finishes looking through the list on Wikipedia and Ms. Pillsbury's pamphlets and everything, and he knows it's time to go talk to Ms. Pillsbury. He puts all of it back into his backpack before heading to school, half-dreading his free period. He gets a one-day reprieve in the form of Finn, however, who is having some kind of Rachel issue in his head and needs a good distraction. By the time Finn's in a good headspace, Puck's free period is over and he can't help breathing a sigh of relief. Maybe he could even wait until Tuesday.

Kurt finds him as soon as last period ends. "I have four hours before I'm supposed to meet Blaine at the mall." There's a funny look on his face for a moment. "So do you mind studying first and then head to the party store and the mall?"

"Sure." Puck shrugs. "Where do you want to study?"

"Well, there's always the library," Kurt suggests sardonically, and Puck just smirks.

"Lead the way."

"You don't know the way?"

"You wound me."

"You'll survive," Kurt says dryly, walking towards one of the flat tables in the back and sitting down. "I think I have most of the algebra stuff, but trig…"

"Okay," Puck nods. "Let's take a look."

They spend an hour and a half in the library, and then Kurt suggests that they get moving. "What kind of stuff does your sister like?"

"Uh. Disney Channel? I don't know, I was hoping something would kind of point itself out."

"Fair enough. I have no idea what the pre-teen set is doing, either."

They spend the short trip to the mall rehashing the trip to New York and laughingly speculating about the next year of glee club, and then they head into Party City.

Puck follows Kurt up and down the aisles. "Any thoughts?"

"Yeah, I dunno." Puck scratches his mohawk. "Ooh, this is cool." He picks up a skull mask. "Pirates, yeah, she likes those Pirates of the Caribbean movies." He picks up the plate with Johnny Depp splashed across it. "See? That's awesome."

"Okay." Kurt shrugs. "I can approve of that." He smirks slightly. "Where's the party at?"

"She said she wanted to do at the park. I'll figure that out, I guess."

"Okay, so you're going to need pretty much everything."

"Yeah." Puck grabs plates, cups, tablecloths, utensils, and napkins, plus invitations and those pre-printed thank you notes. "Decorations?"

"The banner is pretty cool."

"This treasure chest thing is awesome. We can, like, pile all her presents in it."

"Okay." Kurt just raises an amused eyebrow. "What about party favors?"

"Oh, that's the best part." Puck grins. "Stickers and pencils and all that."

"All right," Kurt agrees with amusement.

"Look at these!" Puck holds up a bunch of eyepatches. "That's totally badass! And all this other stuff, too." Puck loads up the cart with pencil sharpeners and erasers and stickers and shit.

"Bubbles?" Kurt holds up a bottle of bubble solution.

"Ooh, awesome." Puck snags it from him. "That would make it see like the spray on a ship or something, right?"

"I have no idea," Kurt laughs. "But, sure. That sounds good."

"Wait, am I gonna have to write all these invitations out tonight?"

"Yes." Kurt smiles oh-so-sweetly. "What day is her birthday?"

"Wednesday. June first."

"So you're going to have the party on…"

"I guess on Saturday after that. The fourth?"

"Yes, you definitely have to write them tonight. Have fun with that."

Puck grimaces. "Thanks, dude."

"Oh, no, the attitude is free."

"I'm sure it is," Puck laughs. "I guess I'd better go put a dent in my wallet."

"It's very nice of you to do this for your sister," Kurt says after a moment, as they walk to the store, his voice very sincere.

"Yeah." Puck gnaws on his lip. "See, my dad left right after she was born. So… the first few years my mom was pretty much incapable of celebrating Hannah's birthday. And she probably could now, I guess, but it's just… it's what I do. Hannah doesn't realize yet that usually it's the parents that give the party." He frowns. "But I think she's probably starting to get the idea." He steps up to the counter and shrugs. "Either way. Mom's probably gonna have to do it after next year."

"If you're free again Tuesday, we could study again and then I could help you figure out the food and everything. If you want."

"Yeah, thanks, dude," Puck nods as he hands over his debit card. "That'd be awesome. Just try to remember the unit circle, right?"

"I still don't understand why trigonometry has a unit circle if it's about triangles," Kurt huffs as they walk out the door.

Puck just laughs. "Just don't think too hard about the why, then." They reach the Navigator and Kurt swears suddenly.

"That was stupid."

"What?"

"I was trying to be practical, since I'm meeting Blaine here… but you have no ride back home. Fuck. I'm sorry."

"Oh." Puck snorts after a minute. "It is kinda funny."

"Well, I should only be here about two hours." Kurt sighs. "Maybe less. If you want to just, I don't know." Kurt gestures expansively, somehow encompassing the mall and the shops around it.

"Yeah, I could go find Hannah a present or something, at Toys R Us." Puck shrugs. "I'll meet you back here?"

"Yeah. Thanks. I'm sorry."

"It's cool. Have fun, dude."

"Thanks." There's that weird smile again, but Puck just shrugs and heads across the lot towards the Toys R Us. He wanders up and down the aisles for a long time, picks up a few boxes, carries them around, puts them back, and repeats the whole process. It's only when the worker points out that the store is gonna close soon that Puck sighs and carries the boxes to the checkout counter, wincing a little at the total.

Hannah'll love it, though, and at least he can tell something to all the people that call to RSVP when they ask for ideas for gifts. His mom might kill him, but she'll get over it, Puck's pretty sure.

Kurt's already leaning against the Navigator when Puck ambles up, bag in hand. He's staring off into space, looking troubled, but he shoots Puck a smile when she spots him. "What did you get her?"

Puck groans. "I spent way too much. I got her a DSi XL."

"Oh, she'll love it! And when people RSVP–"

"–I can just tell them to get her games. Yeah." Puck grins. "Have fun?"

Kurt shrugs, almost sadly. "Eh. All right. I don't know." He shrugs again.

Puck nods, because that's sort of how he felt for awhile with Lauren, and so he kinda knows the road Kurt's headed down, but it's not like he can tell him that. They ride in silence for the remainder of the trip back to Puck's apartment, the radio playing softly.

"Thanks, man," Puck nods as he gathers the stuff from the rear.

"My pleasure. And I need the math help," Kurt replies self-deprecatingly.

"You'll do fine. Bye."

Kurt's response is almost lost in the closing of the door, and Puck holds up one hand in acknowledgment before heading inside.

 

Puck understands why they didn't have any glee club meetings for the remainder of the year, but he kinda misses it, anyway, and instead of going to see Ms. Pillsbury during his free period, he goes to the choir room and plays his guitar for awhile. And if it puts off talking to Ms. Pillsbury, which puts off other things, well. That's just a bonus.

 

Friday is another afternoon playing video games with Finn. And, soon enough, another whirlwind of anger, except this time another set of footsteps is following. Puck pauses the game when they first hear the garage door going up, but it's Finn who kills the power on the television and motions for Puck to stay still and silent.

"I don't understand, Kurt!"

"I'm seventeen, Blaine! I may wear a kilt to prom, but I think you forget I still have balls!"

Puck has to stuff his wrist in his mouth to muffle the laughter that wants to escape.

"Of course you do," and even Finn winces at the placating, condescending tone.

"You haven't changed your opinion since you said I was adorable!"

Blaine's reply is lost as Kurt stalks up the stairs, but muffled voices can still be heard. Puck just looks at Finn and raises his eyebrow. Finn shrugs. "I don't know, man. I can guess, but."

Puck just nods and they turn the television back on. They play for another forty-five minutes before Carole gets home and Puck knows it's time to clear out so the Hudmels can have family dinner night. He walks outside just as Blaine's getting in his car.

"Sup."

"Hello, Puck," Blaine says, almost formally, and Puck thinks that obviously the blazers have gone to the guy's brain. "It's a nice evening, isn't it?"

"Sure." Puck shrugs. "See you around."

"Nice to see you."

Puck rolls his eyes once Blaine's in his car. He can't put a finger on it, but something about the guy rubs him the wrong way.

 

Puck works Memorial Day, earning him grateful looks from his co-workers, who are apparently eager to get started on summer. His manager promises he can have Labor Day off, which probably works out better for him anyway, since it's not like he would have used Memorial Day to study for finals.

Tuesday morning, he walks into Ms. Pillsbury's office, folders and list clutched in his hand. She ignores them at first, though, and starts talking about dual enrollment.

"I don't know if you're aware, Noah, but technically your calculus class this year is part of the dual enrollment program. Since you've successfully finished calculus, in order to fulfill your math requirement for senior year, you're essentially obligated to participate in dual enrollment. Now, you've finished your mandated foreign language requirements, or at least you will have by Friday," she pauses and smiles, "so that leaves only three required courses to take here in the mornings."

"Okay. English, history, and science?"

"Yes. I recommend you choose physics, based on both your math abilities and your previous grades in biology."

"Yeah, anatomy doesn't sound like anything I want to do."

"Since you're going to be participating in dual enrollment, there are several music classes which you could take at OSU-Lima, in addition to doing an independent study for AP Music Theory, as I mentioned."

Puck nods slowly. "Okay, so. Like what? And how is that independent study thing going to work?"

"One thing at a time, Noah. I looked at the fall schedule and I think your best choice is a class called Musical Styles. It meets in the afternoons right after the math class and you would be able to get back to school for football practice without time pressure."

"Okay. Cool."

"As for the independent study… as you no doubt realize, there is not currently an AP Music Theory course offered at this school. To be honest, I doubt there ever has been. There isn't the budget to hire a teacher for such a course, considering it would be very low enrollment–maybe three to six students a year. However, the school is willing to administer the exam if you use your free periods on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons to study the material. That's six periods a week, which is actually one extra, and I'll provide you with a syllabus and textbook and oversight." Ms. Pillsbury looks nearly stern for a moment. "Principal Figgins approved the idea without knowing who the student was. It's going to be very important that you use the unsupervised time as proscribed. At least," she smiles slightly, "as much as possible."

"Yeah." Puck thinks for a few moments. "Okay. I can do that. I mean, use the time right and all." He shifts a little, because part of him worries about doing the work. He knows what "AP" generally means–really smart kids doing a lot of homework and working really hard to learn stuff. The general idea is that AP is a lot harder than dual enrollment. Even the smarter kids in glee club each only had one AP class this year.

Puck's never thought of himself as one of the smarter kids. Period.

Ms. Pillsbury seems to know what he's thinking, because she smiles kindly at him. "About a fourth of the coursework is things that I suspect you already know, Noah. Rhythm, notation, and so forth."

"Yeah?" Puck lets out a little puff of relief and finds himself nodding. "Okay."

"Now, let's take a look at that list you made."

"Yeah, okay." Puck pushes it across the desk towards her and sits back, arms crossed in front of him. He can hear a little therapist-type voice in his head insisting it's a defensive posture. Whatever. Why do people act like that's so bad? They hate it when he has an offensive posture, too. Isn't anyone ever happy?

When she finishes looking over Puck's notes, however, Ms. Pillsbury smiles at him, looking encouraging. "I can tell you put some thought into this. Are you sure you want to pin all your hopes on one city?"

Puck shrugs uncomfortably. "I can't stay around here. So those Unified App schools, that means Oberlin and Cincinnati are out. I think Oberlin would be worse than staying her. I know it's close to Cleveland and all, but it just looks _so_ small. And I just can't stay in Ohio.

"Then there's the Conservatories and I know it's just a name but I don't think I'd fit at a conservatory. They looked kind of stuffy on their websites. I did some reading. I don't think that Manhattan School is the best fit, either, but it's better. But that Mannes school? It looked good. And I could do their little quiz without any trouble.

"If I ended up using somewhere else as a back-up, I think I'd regret it. There seem to be enough places that aren't MSM or Mannes in the city that I could at least get a degree there."

Ms. Pillsbury just nods.

"And Mannes offers merit-based scholarships to something like 75% of students, which is good, because I'm going to need everything I can get. Starbucks doesn't pay that well, and their tuition reimbursement is nice but definitely not going to cover the full cost." He makes himself stop. "I'm probably getting ahead of myself."

"No, you've clearly thought about all of this. Looking at your list, though, I'd like to make a recommendation."

"Okay."

"Rather than casting your net wide for a back-up school, why not just apply to Hunter at first? It's rolling admissions, so you could get a reply in four to eight weeks. If you didn't get in there, which I would honestly be surprised if you didn't, then we could look at other back-up options. But if you do, then you could just concentrate on your Unified App."

"Yeah, that makes sense. Less of those application fees, too."

"Yes." She smiles brightly. "Exactly. So, over the summer, you could even start on the application for Hunter. Once you tell me it's submitted, I'll submit the school materials, and you can get that decision by the end of October."

"Yeah. Yeah, okay." Puck nods, a little dazed.

Ms. Pillsbury writes down a few more things and hands him the paper back, along with a form about dual enrollment that he signs in triplicate before stuffing one of the copies in his backpack. "Have a good summer, Noah, and good luck with finals."

"Yeah, thanks. You too, Ms. Pillsbury."

"Thank you, Noah."

Puck thinks he probably looks a little strained around the eyes, a little weirded out, but no one says anything, so he must just feel that way and not look it. Inside, he's wide-eyed and more than a little freaked out. Despite his bravado, he read the statistics online. He fully expected Ms. Pillsbury to gently tell him that there was no fucking way (except she'd never say fucking) that he would get into any of these schools, and couldn't he just accept that he was destined to be a Lima Loser?

No, instead, she'd encouraged him, said she thought he could get into Hunter, suggested that his dreams were possible, even if they weren't necessarily probable. The last time that had been suggested to him personally? He couldn't really remember.

He spends his time in chemistry doodling while the teacher does a bunch of explosive experiments that they have to watch from a distance. Everything is changing. No. He is changing. It's him. He doesn't remember the last time he had alcohol. He's been working at Starbucks for over two months. He doesn't have a girlfriend or a hook up and he can't particularly bring himself to care.

Sure, he's got some niggling thoughts that he really doesn't want to deal with. But overall he's happier with this version of Puck, so he guesses all the changes aren't so bad.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannah has a party, and Puck can put off almost anything.

He catches Kurt after school, who suggests that they go to the public library to study.

"Where's that?"

Kurt just shakes his head. "Right next to where you work, practically."

"Oh. That little brick building?"

"Yes, the little brick building."

"Okay, cool." Puck shrugs. They spend another hour and a half going over trigonometry, which Puck tries to steer away from the unit circle. About halfway through, Puck digs through his backpack in search of more paper, dumping some things out.

"Oh, you're doing dual enrollment,too," Kurt comments off-handedly, and he picks up the paper. "Glad it's you taking this class and not me," he adds, pointing to the math class listed.

"Yeah, it's calculus-based, so you'd be in trouble," Puck grins.

Kurt shudders. "Never taking calculus. _Never_."

"What are you doing next year, then?"

"Non-calculus statistics. Which I have no doubt will be bad enough." Kurt rolls his eyes dramatically.

"So what are you doing for dual enrollment?"

"French, history, and a music class. Musical theatre history, though. What's yours?"

"Yeah, I don't really know," Puck admits. "I think it's sort of like the theory beyond different styles of compositions, but Ms. P sort of sprung this whole dual enrollment thing on me in the last week or so."

"You write music?"

"Uh." Puck blinks for a second. "Yeah. How'd you know that?"

"You and Finn were in the lobby of the hotel, Puck, you think no one overheard you? Besides, I know Finn can't write music."

"Oh." Puck just shrugs. "Yeah, that makes sense, I guess. Wait, what were you doing in the lobby?"

Kurt grins devilishly. "Breakfast at Tiffany's. Then we broke in to the Gershwin Theatre."

"You broke in to a theatre?" Puck's voice gets louder and incredulous.

"Shh! Yes. Rachel and I did. And the guard gave us fifteen minutes to sing on stage."

"Was it awesome?"

"Incredible," Kurt confesses. "Now I'm just waiting to get back to that city."

"Yeah," Puck nods. "I kinda know what you mean. Lima feels even smaller now."

"Exactly." Kurt sighs. "All right, let's work a little more. So that we can leave this small town."

Puck nods and smiles ruefully. "Exactly."

When they're getting ready to leave the library, they pass through the children's section, and Puck spots some of those books Hannah's forever reading. "Oh, Hannah loves those."

"You know, you can get a free thing here called a library card," Kurt says snarkily, and Puck just rolls his eyes. "And then you could check a few out and take them to her."

"Yeah, yeah, smart-ass. I get the idea." So Puck spends ten minutes getting a library card and picking up three of the books for Hannah before they leave to go to the grocery store. "So I was thinking a cookout kind of thing. Like those pre-made hamburger patties and some chips and I don't know, I could grab some fruit or something that morning."

"Okay," Kurt nods, and gets a second cart. "I told Dad I'd grab a few things, since I was going to be here anyway," he explains to Puck's questioning look, and Puck nods. "So you'll need charcoal and matches and all of that, too."

"Oh, shit, yeah. Good point."

"So what kind of songs do you write? Besides pinch-hitting for Finn at Nationals, I mean?" Kurt asks as they're walking down the frozen foods aisle.

"Oh, uh." Puck shrugs. "Most of it's not so… pop? You know. But." He grins a little. "Want to know a secret?"

"Sure." Kurt raises an eyebrow.

"Finn knows, but no one else. I wrote the music for 'Loser Like Me,' too. Left it on the piano after rehearsal, never told anyone it was mine."

Kurt giggles a little. "Where do they think it came from?"

"The last thing I heard, the consensus was Brad."

"That _is_ funny."

 

The rest of Puck's week is a whirlwind of finals, work, and taking down RSVPs for Hannah's party. He's leaving his English final when Sam falls into step with him.

"Hannah's your sister?"

"Yeah." Puck gives him a weird look. "How do you know Hannah?"

"Stevie talks about all the kids in his class all the time," Sam rolls his eyes.

"Oh, right, yeah. I didn't connect the dots."

"Yeah, so I told my mom I'd take care of the RSVP 'cause she was thinking it was weird that it said call Hannah's brother."

"Yeah, that's just… how it is." Puck shrugs uncomfortably. "So Stevie'll be there?"

"Yeah."

"Cool." Puck pulls out his phone and edits the note with the list of kids in Hannah's class.

"Anything she want?"

"Nah, she's good. I spent way too much on her already. Seriously, don't worry about it."

"If you're sure," Sam says skeptically. "My mom won't be happy about it. Food?"

Puck considers for a moment. "Yeah, okay, if she wants to bring some fruit or something. But seriously, dude, it's not a big deal."

"No, that's good." He nods. "See ya."

"Later."

 

His boss lets him go early, another benefit to working Memorial Day, so he's home in time for them to have a late dinner and for Hannah to open her birthday presents. They have pizza at her request, and then light a candle on top of a chocolate pie that Rina bought at the supermarket.

"I can't believe you're eight," Puck's mom sighs. "Where did my baby girl go?"

"She's not that old, yet," Puck protests.

"Yes I am!"

"Shut up, squirt," Puck grins. "Ready for presents?"

"Yes!"

Puck grabs his guitar and launches into "Birthday" for a few chords, his mom singing along, Hannah giggling as she watches. Puck finishes with a flourish, and Rina hands over a brightly-wrapped present.

"This is from me."

"Cool!" Hannah rips into the box. "Awesome!" She holds up a Pirates of the Caribbean t-shirt and some jeans, and Puck lets out a mental sigh of relief. Then she squeals and pulls out a gift card to Toys R Us. "Thanks, Mom!"

"You're welcome, Hannah."

"Now I want to see what Noah bought me." Hannah picks up the present and frowns. "This is heavy!"

"It's not that heavy. I only put two bricks in it."

"Noo-ahh!"

"I'm kidding. I used gravel."

"Stop teasing your sister."

Hannah rips into the paper at last, and just stares for a minute. "Oh! Oh my gosh!" she squeals finally, high-pitched, and the next thing Puck knows he's got a bouncing sister flinging herself at him. "Thank you! Thank you! Oh this is so cool!"

"What is it?"

"It's a DSi XL! With two more games! This is SO AWESOME!"

"Noah…"

"What?" Puck shrugs. "She wanted one. The games aren't inappropriate. And it's a lot better than those dolls I saw. Monster Sluts or something."

"Noah said a bad word!"

"Go play with your games."

"I just wish you'd mentioned it to me," Rina sighs. "Of course it's fine, I guess. That was very sweet of you."

 

Puck breaks his own promise to himself, focusing on finals for the rest of the week, and Hannah's birthday party, deliberately not thinking about anything much at all. He's making cupcakes for the party on Friday after dinner when he starts to panic. How's he supposed to reserve a table and a grill when he has to work until two?

He ends up calling Kurt in a panic, words tumbling out of his mouth.

"And I have to shower and get the cooler and everything and oh geez, why'd Hannah have to want something more complex?"

"Breathe, Puck," Kurt laughs lightly. "It'll be fine. Which park did you decide on?"

"Robb, I thought it'd be less busy."

"Okay. Don't worry about it. I'll take care of it."

"Dude, you don't have to do that."

"It's fine, I can do it. Go back to making cupcakes."

"How'd you know I was making cupcakes?"

"You told me when I picked up the phone."

"I did?"

"Yes." Kurt laughs again. "Good luck. It'll be fine."

 

Puck takes Kurt at his word, and doesn't worry (much) during his shift the next day. His mom agreed to let him take the car all day, so he gets home much faster, takes a quick shower, and then loads everything into the car. "C'mon, squirt," he calls out, and Hannah comes running.

"Is it time to go?"

"It's time to go," Puck agrees. "You ready to have fun?"

"Yes!"

It doesn't take long to drive to the park, Hannah chattering excitedly the entire way, though most of her comments seem to be about how great it is that she doesn't have to use the booster seat anymore. Somehow Puck is both pleasantly surprised and completely unsurprised to pull up at the park and see Kurt lying on top of one of the picnic tables, head resting on a folded-up jacket.

"Okay, go play over there while I set up," Puck shoos her away and starts unloading the car. "Dude. You didn't have to do this."

Kurt sits up and shrugs. "It's no problem, really," he insists. "I haven't been here that long." With that, he hops off the table and helps Puck set up.

"Yeah, but I didn't help you _that_ much with math."

"Au contraire."

"Huh?"

"It's French," Kurt waves his hand dismissively. "I managed to fake my way to an A, so yes, you did."

"Seriously? Awesome."

"Yes, very awesome," Kurt agrees. "So stop protesting so much." He tosses the bag of charcoal at Puck.

"Yes, sir," Puck salutes with a grin.

They get the charcoal lit and nicely burning, and kids start showing up right on time, playing a game that Hannah's dubbed 'pirate tag.' Puck's not sure that it's all that different from regular tag, but he guesses Johnny Depp's face watching makes a difference. Most of the parents thankfully stick around, because he's trying to get all the food cooked and served, and Kurt is clearly out of his depth when it comes to eight year olds.

Puck's finished serving all the kids hamburgers and is making the rounds, asking the adults, when one blonde woman follows him back to the grill. "I wanted to introduce myself, I'm Ms. Evans. Sam and Stevie's mom."

"Oh, yeah, hey." Puck sticks out his hand quickly and shakes hers. "Nice to meet you. Sam said you thought it was a little weird to RSVP to a high school student." He grins, just a little self-deprecatingly.

"It is a little unusual," Ms. Evans laughs lightly. "I was speaking to Lisa, though, and she told me that's the normal thing for Hannah."

"Yeah, she just wanted something bigger this year," Puck nods. "Thanks for bringing the fruit by the way, I just didn't have time to swing by the supermarket after work."

"Oh, it's not a problem," she assures him. "It's so nice of your boyfriend to help you out."

"I." Puck opens and closes his mouth a couple of times, feeling like he does after a particularly hard hit in a game. "He's–I mean–he's with someone else," he finally manages to stammer out, because somehow, that seems like the most important thing to convey to Sam's mother.

"Oh. Oh, I'm sorry." She reaches over and pats Puck on the bicep. "That must be hard." She smiles sympathetically and then moves away as Hannah approaches with Rebecca.

"Is it time for cake yet, Noah?"

"Not yet, squirt. Go finish eating your hamburger."

Puck operates on autopilot for the remainder of the party, concentrating on writing down who brought Hannah what gifts and pushing down the little voice in the back of his head that keeps screaming "she thinks I'm gay."

Because, really, when's the last time a mom in this town ever thought he was gay? The Evans haven't lived in Lima that long, though, and… he can't explain it.

He can't blame it on Kurt either, as much as the idea is tempting. Kurt's not done anything to give the impression that he and Puck were… dating. Anyway, Kurt _is_ dating someone else, even if there's apparently weirdness going on there.

Puck does what he does best, and puts off thinking. Again.

It's after seven before the last of the guests depart, and even later before the site is sufficiently cleaned up and the car packed with leftover food and Hannah's gifts. "You know what this means, right?"

"What?" Hannah asks suspiciously.

"Thank you notes tomorrow," Puck smirks.

"Ugh," Hannah whines. "Can we go get ice cream right now?"

"How about Dairy Queen? It's Brownie Batter month."

"Okay." Hannah nods and then spins around. "Can your friend come too?"

"Uh, sure." Puck shrugs. "I'll ask him." He jogs over to Kurt's car. "Hey, Hannah wants Blizzards, why don't you come? I'll pay. Not really equivalent, but hey."

Kurt shrugs. "All right. I'll meet you there?"

"Sure."

Good. Blizzards. Blizzards keep his mind off everything else. Listening to Hannah, watching Kurt–no. Watching the other people–no. Watching Hannah. Perfect. Eating the best blizzard flavor there is, which is only available for one month a year. Good.

Puck's thankful that he's exhausted when they get home. He unloads the car, helps Hannah put away her presents, puts away the extra food, and dutifully downloads the pictures onto his mom's computer. He even posts a few pictures of he and Hannah to Facebook, tagging her in it. He finds a good one of Hannah, Stevie, and a few others, and posts it on Sam's Wall. He doesn't stop to let himself _think_. He goes to bed as soon as he finishes on the computer.

 

Puck sleeps in on Sunday morning, only getting up before eleven because his mom comes knocking with the siren call of omelets. Even if she uses turkey sausage in them, he doesn't want to miss out on omelets and breakfast potatoes.

"So Hannah tells me she had a great time yesterday, Noah. Thank you for the pictures."

"Yeah, I think she did," Puck nods. "No one broke any bones or anything, either."

"That's an unusual standard for the success of a party," Rina laughs.

"Hey, there were over 20 eight year olds there _and_ a lit grill," Puck defends himself. "Maybe I should have been more concerned about burns, though," he muses, and then thinks that it's a really weird conversation to be having with his mother.

After he finishes eating, he goes and knocks on Hannah's bedroom door. "Time for thank you notes, squirt."

"Already?" she whines.

"Already."

It takes her over an hour to fill in the blanks and address all the notes, an hour that Puck spends sitting beside her at the kitchen table. It's easier to work on thank you notes, after all, than to think about anything of importance.

When she's done, though, he walks back into his room and sits down at his computer. He doesn't want to do this. It's easier not to do it. It's so much easier not to think. He's been putting this off for so many weeks now that he doesn't know what to do. He doesn't know where to start. What to think about first.

So he does the predictable thing, which is bolting into the bathroom and throwing up the contents of his stomach.

He brushes his teeth and retreats back into his bedroom, door closed, thankful that his mom and Hannah don't notice that he's sick. He could blame it on his own grilling from the day before. Maybe.

Where to start? The day before, Ms. Evans' innocent assumption? Everything the past few weeks? Farther back than that, the day he decided he had a role to play and everything he did had to fit into that role, no matter what?

The truth wins out in the end, though, right? And despite everything he's ever done. He's not a liar.

He doesn't want to be a liar.

He pulls up google and types the first thing that occurs to him. "The truth wins out." Puck closes his eyes and takes a shaky breath as the results load, and closes the window.

Fuck.

 _Fuck._

He sits there for another few minutes before setting his jaw and opening a new window. Google again. Before he starts to type, he stands up and locks the bedroom door.

An hour later, Puck decides that for once, Google isn't helpful. At all.

That's not fair. The results either incredibly helpful or not at all helpful. He doesn't really want to deal with the ones that are incredibly helpful. Even though he knows he has to.

He finds a few blurbs that make sense. Self-denial. Societal expectations. Familial pressures. Most of it is crap, though. Nothing that's there for someone like him. Most of these people seem so sure, one way or the other.

Then there's all the statistics about bullying, which he reads in horror, and nearly doesn't make it to the toilet in time. He rinses his mouth again, then goes back into his room and shuts down his computer. He sits down on his bed heavily and checks the time. Nearly four.

He jabs at the screen.

"Hey. Wanna catch a movie? I don't care, just… want to get out of here. I didn't get to see X-Men yet, though. Yeah. See you."

He hangs up and heads into the living room. "I'm going to go watch a movie with Finn. Be back later," he announces to the room at large, and Hannah and his mom both nod.

 _X-Men_ and hamburgers keeps his mind mostly in the present and mostly out of his thoughts. Mostly. He notices himself noticing things that he knows he's noticed for years–and ignored. Luckily, there's enough action to distract him, and the wait for food is longer than expected, meaning they have time to engage in an in-depth discussion of the action sequences and every infinitesimal plot point.

Highly distracting.

"See you Tuesday, right?"

"Yeah, yeah, sure." Puck nods. Video games! Excellent.

Puck makes himself go to bed as soon as he gets home. It has nothing to do with thinking, he tells himself. It's because he opens the store the next day. Exactly.

 

The Monday morning crowd is a lot different than working afternoons or weekend mornings, and the store is busy for several hours before a lull mid-morning. After they finish that rush, Puck busies himself with random cleaning and chores between customers. Anything to keep himself busy, because at 2:00-

"Time to go home, Puckerman."

"See you tomorrow."

"Will do."

Puck walks past the library, returning the books Hannah'd already devoured and picking up a few more. Then he heads home, feet heavy. The apartment will be quiet. Empty.

A perfect opportunity for more time on the computer.

Exactly what he's trying to avoid, even though he knows he shouldn't avoid it.

He remembers something about videos and bullying and decides to look that up. At least he never… he wanted to be on the top of the heap, whatever it took, because he was already poor and Jewish and missing his dad. What other people saw as living their lives, he saw as them flaunting their money or their family or their popularity or any number of other things. He never… sure, he said a few things. But it wasn't sheer _hate_ , like some of the links describe.

He spends the afternoon watching video after video after video. He starts with the Google Chrome video and just goes from there. It's pretty cool that the President did one, too. He knew he liked the dude, though he hadn't been sure why, exactly.

He clicks on link after link, finding it easier to lose himself in other people's words, other people's experiences. It's easier to merely observe. To attempt to relate in a detached way. Some of the videos have music, and that's easier, too.

When he hears his mother's key in the door, he shuts the computer down immediately and heads towards the kitchen to help with dinner.

 

Tuesday is better. Work is even busier. There's a delivery mid-morning that they didn't expect, and it takes awhile to get everything put away. Then there's the walk to Finn's and video games. They talk about nothing of any consequence whatsoever. Kurt makes his usual appearance in the doorway, only to be interrupted by a ringing phone and the sound of Kurt raising his voice echoing down the stairs. Finn seems determined to ignore it, so Puck does the same. There's another round starting as Puck heads out the door and he just raises his eyebrows. "That's messed up, dude."

"I know." Finn just shrugs helplessly, and Puck nods. He knows–what can you do? People have to figure it out for themselves, just like he did with Lauren.

Well, shit. Now he's thinking about what she said when he dumped her, something about sex and not being into it and he doesn't want to go back to that. He's managed to avoid it all day.

Tomorrow.

He tells himself 'tomorrow' a lot.

He even follows through, a bit, spending his morning off tentatively looking at more websites and watching more videos. Then he just starts to get mad. Mad that no matter what conclusion he comes to, he's been trying to do so many things for years just because of how someone else is going to perceive him. It's become a constant voice in his head. Don't do that. Do this, not that. No, no, _this_. Wear this. Don't buy that. Listen to this.

He's defied the voice a few times.

If he hadn't, he wouldn't be in glee club, after all.

In a fit of rage or whatever that p-word is that means something like being mad, Puck nearly trashes his room, throwing clothes and screaming. When he finally stops, he cleans up slowly, and then walks out the door.

He can't be at home in the silence with his own thoughts. Not yet.

It's almost lunchtime, so he stops and gets a burger, then walks more. Almost without realizing it, he ends up near the Hudmel place and decides to knock.

"Puck?" Kurt answers the door, looking puzzled. "It's Wednesday; Finn's at work."

Puck shrugs. "Yeah. I just… needed a break. Thought maybe you might, too."

Kurt winces but smiles a painful smile in acknowledgment. "What did you have in mind?"

"Something that doesn't leave room in my brain for thought," Puck smirks.

"Excellent." Kurt tilts his head a little. " _Matrix_ marathon?"

"Ohh, yeah," Puck nods. "Perfect."

And it is. Seven hours later, they finish Revolutions, having consumed two pizzas, a two liter, and some cookies in the interim, Finn joining them for Revolutions after he gets home from work. The three of them pile into Kurt's Navigator and drive over to Harding Highway, eating a second dinner in the form of Taco Bell before dropping Puck back at his apartment building.

Puck smirks to himself as he goes to sleep.

See? He can put off just about anything.


	3. Chapter 3

Thursday is like a repeat of Tuesday, except that Puck escapes the Hudmel house ahead of Hurricane Kurt. He knows this because it's not often you hear Kurt Hummel's tires screech, but as Puck was heading through the alley, he heard them. It's almost funny.

Almost.

When he gets home, he realizes that he forgot tonight was some mother-daughter thing at Hannah's camp, so it's just him at home, him and his half-trashed room and his computer. _Fuuck_.

He spends thirty frustrating minutes on Google, finding nothing that helps him at all. Why isn't there a website? A forum? Something? He just wants something sympathetic to read. That's all!

Then Puck follows the rabbit trails, and stares at the screen. He runs his tongue over his lips nervously and takes a shaky breath.

One click, and he could chat with someone. Anonymously. One click. He bites his lip and shifts in his seat, hand hovering over the mouse, the mouse perfectly positioned.

And he hears his mom's key in the lock.

 _FUCK._

He shuts down his computer and flings himself onto his bed, the light in his room already out. He'll change clothes later. He just doesn't want to talk to anyone right now, not even Hannah. Both of them tiptoe past his bedroom; he falls asleep before he can change out of the clothes he's been wearing all day.

 

He's walking home from work the next day, after killing time in the library at his mom's request (mystery novels), when his phone vibrates in his pocket.

"'Lo?"

"Hey, Puck. It's Kurt."

"Oh, hey. What's up?"

"Well, you're the least bitchy of the people I've ever gone shopping with. And Finn mentioned you wanted to check out that guitar store in Dayton sometime. So I wanted to see if you wanted to come down to Dayton with me on Sunday."

"Sunday? Uh… let me think. What time?"

"I thought about leaving around 11, eating lunch at the mall."

"Sweet. I love food courts."

"Okayyy." Puck can practically picture Kurt raising an eyebrow.

"Are you sure you don't want to take your boyfriend or something?" Puck feels like he has to ask, like maybe he's supposed to keep pretending that Kurt's relationship is going well.

"As I said, you're the least bitchy shopping partner I've ever had. By far. Besides, I don't need to be stuck in a car with him for hours."

"Oh. Okay." Puck shrugs mentally. He can kind of understand that. He doesn't need to be stuck with his mind for hours without distraction. It's not quite the same thing, but close enough. "Yeah, sounds cool."

"See you Sunday, then."

"See you. Bye."

"Bye."

Puck continues home, shrugging to himself. Fantastic, another day filled with stuff. No thinking required. And he really has been wanting to check out the guitar store in Dayton, it looks pretty cool from everything he can find out about it.

He sits at home and finds himself back on the same website as the night before, except this time he clicks on the FAQ section and starts scanning it.

One sentence stands out.

 _It has nothing to do with whether you have acted on those feelings yet or not._

 _And he's back to the kicked in the sternum feeling. Because maybe somewhere in his head, he wanted something that said the opposite. He's invested years in being… _not_. Trying so hard not to be something, but to be not something else. He doesn't let himself think it, doesn't form the words in his head, but part of him wanted something that said his past actions _did_ in fact make all the difference. _

He closes his eyes and sighs deeply. It's Friday. It's later than he thought, and his mom will be home soon. He quits his browser and goes into the kitchen. Dinner. He can make dinner. It's a valueless assignment.

Everyone eats dinner. Everyone eats food.

He heats up spaghetti sauce and starts the water boiling.

Even vegans eat spaghetti with tomato sauce. It's an inoffensive meal that makes no value statements.

Why can't the rest of his life be more like spaghetti?

 

After work on Saturday, he gets a call from Mike, and goes to the movies with Mike and Artie. They watch _Super 8_ , which is better than Puck expected based on the poster outside the theatre. Then Artie wants to grab some dinner, which works for Puck, and the result is that he's not home until after 8 pm. Excellent, part of him thinks, and he spends the rest of the evening playing Risk with Hannah. He makes sure to set his alarm for 10, since he's supposed to head to Dayton with Kurt.

Ten turns out to be perfect, enough time to get up and talk to his mom and annoy Hannah and get dressed before heading downstairs just as Kurt pulls up. The drive to Dayton is lighthearted, singing a little with the radio and talking about their respective summer jobs.

"No one expects me to know anything about cars, but what do they think my dad and I can talk about?" Kurt shrugs. "I'm taking some of the ASE exams over the summer, then I can find work at a garage or something instead of filing in an dark department office or whatever other student jobs they try to stick freshmen with."

"The what?"

"ASE–they're certification tests for mechanics. There are eight exams in the A series and if I can pass them all before college, I'll be considered a 'Master Automobile Technician.' They aren't easy tests but they aren't too hard, either. I started with A5 last week because I don't really like working on brakes. Got it out of the way first."

"Cool," Puck nods. "Doesn't that pay better than a filing job, too?"

"Yes, it should. My dad pays me quite a bit lower than what I'd get somewhere else, but that's part of the agreement we have. Eventually I'll own part of the shop, even if I don't live here. Which I won't."

"That's still awesome." Puck shrugs.

"What about you? Will Starbucks let you transfer to another store without any trouble?"

"Yeah, with any luck. It shouldn't be a problem to find _some_ store as long as I make it out of small-town America."

"Tell me about it," Kurt grimaces.

Puck feels like the day is already going well because he gets to eat lunch in a food court, but the guitar shop outside Dayton is actually even more amazing than Puck had hoped and he feels a little like a kid in a candy store. He spends a little too much and looks a little too long and a little too longingly at one of the electric guitars before Kurt rolls his eyes and forces him out of the store.

"Come on, let's go back down to the mall, I need to find a book about various colleges in order to appease my father than I am not limiting my choices too early. Something like that."

"Too few schools?"

"I have three on my list right now. I don't see it changing, unless I do add NYU, but right now I don't think they actually have what I'm looking for."

"Hey, you only have to get into one. That's what I keep telling myself anyway." Puck smirks a little.

"This is true," Kurt laughs for a second. "What about you?"

"Right now, three." Puck shrugs. "And two of them are… I don't know, I think they're huge long-shots, but Ms. Pillsbury seems to think I have an actual chance, so I guess we'll see."

There's another music store right in the mall, and Puck heads into it while Kurt goes to 'a variety of shops that I hope will have adequately styled clothing.' Surprisingly, Kurt finishes first, toting only one bag, and looks through the sheet music as Puck finishes browsing.

"That reminds me!" Kurt snaps his fingers. "Come on, let's go over to Target for a few minutes."

Kurt walks through Target purposefully and find something in the school supplies area which he deposits into Puck's hands. "I couldn't remember what I was forgetting," he starts, "but I finally did. You'd still have to draw it in, but it could be staff or tab, and that's what it's for."

The clothbound notebook stares up, unassuming, the label marking it a 'creativity journal.' "Oh. Cool." Puck flashes a grin. "That is pretty awesome."

"Good," Kurt returns the smile, obviously pleased.

They head back towards Lima after Target, and it's pleasantly late in the evening when Puck enters his apartment.

Another day of avoidance. Check.

 

Puck's getting ready to leave work on Monday when Simon & Garfunkel comes onto the radio. The words are still ringing in his ears as he walks home. _Silence like a cancer grows. Silence like a cancer grows._ He doesn't even know why they're echoing, or what they mean, but he walks home faster than he intends. He changes clothes and starts his computer, and with a deep breath, he puts his mouse on the button to chat.

And he clicks.

He isn't sure what exactly he's expecting, but what he finds isn't it. There's no pressure, no cajoling, no request for confessions. There's a lot of leading questions, and a lot of sympathetic understanding from the other side of the screen. Puck dances around the topic, and whoever is on the other side obliges him, similarly dancing around and avoid outright statements. Puck's profoundly grateful for the consideration. Some things he's not even letting himself think, yet, and he logs off just before the rest of the family gets home.

Tuesday is much like the last few Tuesdays, except he goes home between work and heading to Finn's, and while he's at home, he sits down at the computer to check his email. There's a follow-up from the person from the chat the afternoon before, and he reads it gratefully. When he goes to close the email, a stray thought flits across his brain– _Maybe we really do look after each other._

It's not until he stands up from the computer that he freezes. _I said **we**._

 _We._

Puck swallows hard as he walks mechanically out of the apartment and onto the street. _We. We. We._

He stops by the river and sits on a bench for a long time, watching nothing particularly.

 _You can do this. Think it. You don't have to say it, but you can think it. Man up, Noah Puckerman._ Puck exhales heavily. He knows it's not just the words. He's carefully built so many walls, walls that only started to break down in the past few months. He literally avoided thinking about it for months and even years at a time.

It always seemed easier to pretend, but it doesn't feel easy any more. Admitting that he's been pretending, even to himself, doesn't feel any easier.

Finally, he stands up and closes his eyes for just long enough.

 _I'm gay._

It's as if the words were a key, because he's flooded with memories, sights and thoughts he had vigorously and ruthlessly suppressed, and before he can take a step, he _knows_ the truth of the statement. Knows how much he's used denial and other people's expectations to construct a huge facade of being straight. Puck being Puck, his next step is to the trash can, his stomach emptying almost easily. He straightens, squares his jaw a little, and finishes walking to Finn's house.

Time to play video games. The rest has been waiting for years. It can wait a little longer.

 

Puck walks up to the front door at Finn’s and can hear the television already blasting Call of Duty, so he pounds a little harder than usual when he knocks, hoping Finn will hear him over the sound.

The sound cuts off abruptly, indicating Finn has paused the game, and after a few seconds, Puck can hear the sound of Finn gallumphing through the house to the front door. There’s a loud thud and a yelp, then Finn opens the front door, looking out of sorts.

“Puck, hey,” Finn says, rubbing his shin. “I can’t get used to that damn rug being there.”

“Didn’t your mom put it there when you moved in?” Puck steps inside the door, glad the Hudmel residence is fully air conditioned. “Oh that feels nice.”

“It’s only been seven months,” Finn grumbles under his breath. “I have seventeen years of _not_ having that rug to overcome.”

“The rug is behind everything,” Puck nods, looking skeptical. “It’s all the rug’s fault.”

“Totally,” Finn agrees. “Stupid rug, getting all up in my face.”

Puck just snorts and changes the subject. “Call of Duty today?”

“You know it! Too damn hot for anything else.”

“Seriously.” Puck walks through the hall to the kitchen and helps himself to a can of pop. “It’s getting ridiculous. And it’s only June.”

Finn leads Puck into the living room and tosses him a controller before flinging himself onto the couch with a dramatic groan, like even video games might be too much effort. Puck snickers a little to himself and settles into the recliner. “Get any points yet?”

“Doing ok,” Finn says, restarting the game, “but my head’s not in the game today.”

“Yeah? Sup?”

“Eh, you’ll probably thinks it’s dumb.”

“How long have I known you?” Puck raises an eyebrow and grins.

“Long enough to know you probably always think I’m dumb?” Finn grins back. “I’m just worried about Kurt, is all. He’s out with Blaine and things...aren’t going well.”

“Yeah, I kinda got that impression,” Puck agrees.

“I hate seeing him so unhappy,” Finn says. “He’s put up with enough crap over the past year without adding relationship drama to it.”

“Hey, he’s getting the full teenage relationship experience, at least, right?”

Finn snorts. “Kurt said almost the exact same thing! I swear, man, I thought that with no girls involved, there would be _less_ drama and moodiness.”

Puck swallows the pop he’s drinking with a gurgle and then clears his throat. “You have met Kurt, right?” he finally says, tone very light and amused.

“Fair enough,” Finn says, rolling his eyes. “Everything started off really calm and normal with them, though.”

“That’s kind of weird, dude. Dating shouldn’t be _calm_.”

“Well, you gotta admit,” Finn argues, “Blaine’s kind of...”

“Boring?”

“I was gonna say...well, hell, I was gonna say boring, so yeah,” Finn laughs.

"Also really _short_.”

“And don’t tell Kurt I said this, but what is _with_ the hair?” Finn asks. “I mean, I didn’t think kids our age did their hair like that since the 1800s or something.”

“Maybe we should check the dude’s driver’s license.”

“He could be a vampire. Have _you_ ever seen him in direct sunlight?” Finn asks, switching his gun out on _Call of Duty_. “I’m not sure I have. He could be turning Kurt into a gay vampire as we speak.”

“He does seem overly attached to the blazer,” Puck muses. “Wait, does a gay vampire only drink gay blood or something?” The word falls surprisingly easily from his lips, but he thinks that may be due to the absurdity of the conversation.

“No idea, dude,” Finn says. “I don’t know how these things work. I’ve never been a gay vampire.”

“You’ve been a straight vampire, then?”

“Totally, but I gave it up for Lent,” Finn grins, cutting his eyes over at Puck. “It’s a Christian thing, though, so you wouldn’t understand.”

Puck snorts. “Thankfully. I’d want to enjoy my vampirism.”

“Well, give Blaine a call. He’ll probably vampire you up if you ask.” Finn makes a thinking face. “Or I guess you could just wait for Kurt to get home and see how it’s working out for him.”

“I managed to avoid Hurricane Hummel the other day,” Puck nods, “but I heard his tires screeching. Which? Probably not something most people have heard.”

“Yeah, he’s usually way more careful with his ‘baby’ than that,” Finn agrees. “He’s been pretty worked up lately.”

“Yeah? That’s not good, dude.”

“Nope, but nothing I can do about it.”

“Contract killing?”

“Might work,” Finn muses, “but I think it’s outside my price range. Maybe we could get Rachel to do it.”

“Death by karaoke!”

“Don’t say karaoke!” Finn says. “You’ll summon her and then I won’t get to finish my game.”

“Oh, it’s like the Bat-signal? Someone just says the k-word and Rachel appears, machine in tow?”

“I think she keeps it in her purse. I don’t know how it _fits_ in there.”

“Old Jewish secret.”

“Probably so,” Finn says, and then elbows Puck, “Hey, are you gonna shoot that guy or not!”

“I’m still considering it,” Puck says, even as he shoots the guy. “I had to weigh the moral obligation of helping myself versus screwing up _your_ game.” He smirks.

“Harsh, dude.”

“You’ll survive. Oh, wait, you already did.”

Finn makes a face. “ _Anyway_ ,” he says, drawing out the word, “have you heard from Mike or Sam lately?”

“Went to see _Super 8_ with Mike and Artie the other night. Saturday, I guess. Yeah, Saturday. It was better than I expected, actually. Sam, nah. His little brother came to Hannah’s party.”

“How their family doing?” Finn asks. “His parents come?”

“I met Sam’s mom.” _And she thought, correctly by the way, that I was gay. Also dating your brother._ “She seems nice.” Puck shrugs. “She and Sam were insistent on bringing something when I told them not to worry about a gift, so she brought fruit.”

“That was nice of her. Party went ok this year?”

“Yeah, she wanted it out in the park, so I cooked hamburgers.”

“Sounds fun,” Finn says, noncommittally.

“Hey, no broken bones _or_ severe burns. I call that success.”

“You have a weird definition of success, dude,” Finn says, shaking his head. “No wonder we bombed at Nationals.” He quirks an eyebrow at Puck to make it clear that he’s joking.

Puck laughs. “Yeah, talk to me in twenty years or so when you’re giving a birthday party for _your_ eight year old.”

“I was thinking I’d get dogs instead.”

“Oh, no, you’re going to be one of _those_ people.” Puck makes a horrified face. “Just promise me you’ll make the dog actually walk. Don’t buy it a stroller.”

“What, you don’t think I could rock the purse dog look?” Finn asks, innocently. “I think I’m man enough to pull that look off.”

Puck explodes, doubling over with laughter. “Dude, _no one_ rocks that look.”

Finn laughs, too.

“What about you, you seen Sam or anybody?”

“Talked to him once or twice, but haven’t seen him,” Finn says. “I’m guessing his work schedule keeps him pretty busy.”

“I kind hope so. I mean, for his sake.” Puck shrugs. “Not much any of us can really do to help, though.”

Finn nods. “You run into any of the girls?”

“Nah. Wasn’t Tina going on some long-ass vacation?”

“San Francisco, I think,” Finn says. “Or San Diego? One of those.”

“Far away, anyway.”

“Definitely West Coast, I think.”

“Cool for her. I think Mike was whining about it the other night, but I just ignored him.”

“Must be nice,” Finn says, rather wistfully. “Getting out of here, I mean, even if it’s just for the summer.”

“Yeah.” Puck sighs a little heavily. “Just another year, though, and we’ll be the envied graduates. Or, you know, not envied. Whichever.”

“And anywhere will be better than here, even if it’s just, like, Columbus or Cincy.”

“No, dude, I gotta get out of this state.”

“You, Kurt, and Rachel,” Finn mutters, a little morosely. “Flying the coop.”

“We’re chickens now?” Puck raises an eyebrow.

“Don’t go to school in Kentucky, is all I’m sayin’.”

“Kentucky.” Puck blinks. “What?”

“Kentucky...chicken. You know,” Finn says. “The Colonel?”

“Ohh. Dude, I was totally thinking of school mascots. Like, what kind of school has a fox mascot?”

Finn shakes his head. “Dude, you are seriously messed up in the head, you know that?”

“Uhh... yeah,” Puck admits, and then quickly grins.

“Oh shit!” Finn exclaim, suddenly, turning his full attention back to the screen. “Look out for that guy behind the bush!”

“Fuck.”

They spend the rest of the afternoon playing _Call of Duty_ and most of their conversation revolves around it. When Puck heads out the door to walk home, he feels strangely relieved. Finn was still Finn, and they were still the same as they were before. Which it's not like Puck flipped a switch earlier, so that makes sense, but somehow he thought it might have been different anyway.

One foot in front of the other.

 

Finn is still playing _Call of Duty_ when Kurt walks in through the garage door and enters the hallway. “Dude, that you?” Finn calls from the living room.

“If the dude you’re expecting is Kurt Hummel, then yes,” Kurt replies dryly, stepping into the doorway.

“How many dudes are coming into the house at this time of day?” Finn asks, pausing the game.

“One never knows.” Kurt shrugs and sits in the recliner. “So, two things.”

“Shoot,” Finn says, with a cheesy little finger gun gesture in Kurt’s direction.

Kurt rolls his eyes. “You want what I think is more interesting first, or what I think you will find more interesting first?”

“Dude, I didn’t even follow that,” Finn says, “so whichever.”

“You’re not doing anything Saturday, _right_?”

“Uh,” Finn looks trepidatious. “Is the right answer supposed to be no?”

“Indeed.” Kurt beams slightly. “But now you are!”

“Uh oh. This isn’t another community theatre musical revue thing, is it? ‘Cause if so, I’m totally already busy on Saturday.”

“You have Rachel to drag you to those.” Kurt waves his hand dismissively. “Dad said I could go to Columbus on Saturday if you came too!”

“Ok, what’s in Columbus on Saturday?” Finn asks. “It’s not a musical revue, is it?”

“Are you obsessed? No. It’s _Pride_ ,” Kurt explains, his voice getting faster and higher until he squeals the last word.

“Uhh...ok?” Finn looks confused. “Am I allowed to go to that? Isn’t it for, like, gay people or whatever?”

Kurt looks torn between bursting into laughter and rolling his eyes. “ _Yes_ , you’re allowed to come. Straight allies are always welcome.”

“Ok,” Finn grins. “Cool. Is there a dress code? I don’t have to wear a pink Speedo or anything?”

“Finn. Do _I_ own a pink Speedo?”

“The correct answer to this question is no, whether you actually own one or not,” Finn replies, definitively.

“Now I know what to get you for Christmas. And you know what to get me for my _quickly approaching_ birthday.” Kurt smiles sweetly.

“I am never going to get this image out of my mind. Ever.” Finn looks pained.

“You brought it up.” Kurt shrugs, managing to look innocent. “But. Saturday. You’ll come? Dad won’t let me go alone, blah blah blah.” He makes a face.

“Sure,” Finn says. “Sounds interesting. What was the other news?”

“Oh, that,” Kurt says, trying for a dismissive tone. “Only that I broke up with Blaine.”

“Oh,” Finn replies, voice intentionally neutral. “That’s, um. That’s too bad.”

“Yes, I’m sure you’re very upset,” Kurt snorts. “Please, Finn, neither of us are idiots.”

“Heartbroken on your behalf, bro,” Finn says, composing his features into a look of such dramatic sympathy that he can’t even force himself to hold the expression for long before cracking a little smile. “Sorry. Breakups suck, but no, I’m not all that upset you called it quits.”

“I just got really tired of the ‘Blaine Knows Best’ show,” Kurt sighs. “I’m not really cut out to step into Jane Wyatt’s shoes.”

“No idea who that is,” Finn says. “Timing’s good, though. Now you can check out the other dudes at Pride without worrying about Blaine getting pissed at you.”

“Finn!” Kurt blushes a little, but doesn’t contradict Finn’s statement about checking guys out.

“I’m not gonna see anything really _weird_ , am I?” Finn asks. “Like fat bikers in butt-less chaps or anything?”

“I do not even want to know why you know of such things,” Kurt responds quickly. “And how would I know? I’ve never been either.”

“This isn’t something that all gay guys just instinctively know about?” Finn asks, quirking a little grin. “It wasn’t in the handbook? Try looking under ‘bikers’ or maybe ‘chaps comma buttless.’”

“Awful, you are awful.” Kurt tosses a throw pillow in Finn’s direction, but his aim is off and it flies over the back of the couch. “Just for that, I’m going to make you watch an episode of _Queer as Folk_ or something with me. One _without_ any lesbian sex scenes.”

“Uncool, dude,” Finn protests. “I was just trying to find out whether my buttless chaps were going to be appropriate.”

“Buttless chaps are _never_ appropriate.”

“That’s too bad, ‘cause I already got you a pair for your _quickly approaching_ birthday.”

“I want to see the expression on my dad’s face when I open those. Or your mother’s, for that matter.”

“Moving right along...” Finn says, making a cut-it-out motion that transitions into some wild flailing.

Kurt smirks, knowing he’s had the last word on that one. “Yes, moving right along,” he agrees placidly. “And how was your day,” he continues, tone sugary. “I assume you didn’t have anyone yelling at you.”

“Nope. Just _Call of Duty_ with Puckerman. Pretty normal Tuesday.”

“ _Call of Duty_ is boring,” Kurt announces, slumping a little bit down in his seat. “It’s all bang, bang, bang, whoo, someone else is dead.”

“Relieves stress,” Finn insists. “Also, strategy or whatever.”

“Hmm. I still think _L.A. Noire_ requires far more strategy.”

“Yeah, but it’s got way too much talking,” Finn argues. “And if I want to see that much talking, I’ll watch a movie.”

“At least it’s not Dad’s golf game. Yawn.”

“I don’t even know why Burt _bought_ that game. He’s not even good at it.”

 

By the time he wakes up the next morning, though, Puck's not feeling so sanguine. He feels jittery, jittery like he hasn't in a while, and it's good that he doesn't have to go to work, because he spends six hours straight online, looking at links and reading sites and watching videos and even lurking on a forum. It's nerve-wracking and liberating at the same time, and Puck has to let old, forgotten moments surface from time to time. By mid-afternoon, though, it's sliding more towards 'nerve-wracking,' and he gets up and walks out the door.

He heads towards the Hudmel house. He's overheard more fighting between Kurt and Blaine, including at the movie theatre in the bathroom (Kurt didn't realize he was there) and at Starbucks Monday morning when Kurt dragged Blaine in so Kurt could have red velvet whoopie pies. Somehow Puck's unsurprised that Kurt's sitting outside with a tall glass when he walks up.

"I did it."

Puck blinks. "You broke up with him?"

"I did."

The words slip out before Puck can control them. "About time."

"Sometimes it takes awhile to say out loud what we already know is true."

Puck closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. That hits a little close to home. _Sometimes it even takes awhile to admit things to yourself._

"You okay?"

"I'll be fine." Future tense. Puck's sure of that, but he's not there yet.

"So will I."

Puck opens his eyes and nods. "Got any more where they came from?" he asks, inclining his head towards Kurt's glass as he climbs up the stairs.

"Yes. Pitcher in the fridge."

"Cool." Puck lets himself in and pours a glass, sniffing it a little suspiciously. It smells like lemonade, but a little bit like Italian, too. He shrugs and walks back out onto the porch and takes a seat.

"No work today?"

Puck shakes his head. "Not on Wednesdays. S'nice." He takes a sip of the lemonade and makes a little face. "What's the other flavor?"

"Basil."

"That explains why I thought it smelt a little bit like an Italian restaurant."

Kurt snickers quietly. "Yes, probably so."

They sit in silence for awhile, drinking, until the jittery feeling under Puck's skin gets too hard to ignore. "Let's go do… I don't know. Something ridiculous."

"Ridiculous?"

"Yeah." Puck shrugs. "Like. I dunno. Bowling or something."

Kurt snaps his fingers. "Rinky Dinks."

"Is it still open?" Puck laughs. "But yeah, exactly."

"I think so." Kurt grins. "Come on, roller skating is ridiculous."

"True." Puck stands up. "I'm game if you are."

It doesn't take long to arrive at Rinky Dinks and rent ugly brown roller skates. "Dude, those totally clash with your outfit," Puck says, face pulled as serious as he can get it. "I'm so glad I have a brown t-shirt on."

When Kurt turns an exasperated look on him and feints towards him, Puck snorts and takes off skating.

It's probably the most ridiculous time he's had in weeks, which they follow up with the worst nachos Puck can remember eating, ever, and given the number of awful high school concession stands he's eaten at, that really says something. "These are so awful," he mumbles around a mouthful.

Kurt nods. "I know! Why do we keep eating them?"

"Maybe they're pot nachos," Puck laughs, and Kurt dissolves into laughter.

"Pot nachos! Do they put the pot in the chips or the cheese?"

"The jalapenos."

"I thought they looked suspicious." Kurt plucks a jalapeno off the top of a chip and examines it closely. "How could I have missed it?"

"They're green, pot can be green, who could doubt it?" Puck agrees.

 

Puck doesn't go to Finn's on Thursday, begging off via terse text message. Let Finn assume whatever, he's feeling stuck. Like molasses or whatever. He keeps going between the idea that _nothing_ has changed and the idea that _everything_ has changed, and knowing that the truth is likely somewhere in the messy middle does nothing to really help him feel any better. At all.

So he spends part of the afternoon reading sites about politics and marriage and a bunch of things he's never really considered before. It's a lot easier to read about the abstract issues that affect many people than to contemplate anything that hits too close to home. So he learns more than he ever thought he'd want to know about immigration and workplace discrimination and marriage and Don't Ask Don't Tell and apparently Lady Gaga gave some speech about that last thing.

He steadfastly avoids any mention of anything that relates to him personally–schools, coming out, youth, whatever. The one site he read the other day said there was an education stage or something, and that's what Puck's doing, dammit. He's _educating_ himself.

Okay, and downloading the first episode of _Queer as Folk_ illegally.

Which he starts watching, wide-eyed and confused. Fake butts? What's the big gay emergency? He's supposed to really like Brian Kinney?

Still, there's something fascinating, almost mesmerizing, and it's practically like watching soft-core.

And yeah. Gay.

 

With equal fervor to how Puck had put things out of his mind for months at a time, now he turns to consuming information. He jogs home from work on Friday and sits in front of his computer for the rest of the day, emerging only at dinner time. Finn calls to say that all the other guys from glee, even Sam, are meeting for a movie, but Puck gives a generic excuse about watching Hannah, and turns back to the computer.

Saturday looks like Friday, except it's Artie who calls, wanting to get together to play video games or something, and Puck gives him another lame excuse. He's got multiple windows open, his bedroom door closed, alternating between forums and information and videos, feeling almost frantic.

It's like he's missed something, missed it for so long that he's trying to shove years into hours, but he couldn't articulate what it is, exactly, that he's missed or what he's hoping to find, he just knows that it's what he's got to do right now, at this moment, and he feels a little wide-eyed and stunned.

Sunday is a little different; his mom takes them out to brunch, for some reason, but Puck's not going to complain, because it's a buffet, and then Hannah begs to go to the park and swim, so Puck takes her out for the afternoon. In the evening, though, he finds himself back in front of the computer, following rabbit trails and absorbing all the information he finds with the occasional grimace, a few smiles, and a lot of just plain shock.

What's the thing his chemistry teacher called it? Maybe in history, too. Yeah. _Paradigm shift_. He's undergoing a paradigm shift.

And he doesn't quite know where he's going to land. He just knows it's going to be something new, something that doesn't look the same as it has for the last few years. Something altered–something distinctive.

 

It's near bedtime on Sunday when Puck's phone vibrates with an incoming text from Kurt.

 _I don't know if this is appropriate or not, welcome or not, or offensive or not, so I'm texting it. You can always delete it and ignore it if it's unwelcome or anything else. In case it's welcome, though, I thought it ought to be said. Happy Father's Day._

Puck's breath kind of catches. He'd actually forgotten it was Father's Day, a product of eight years without a father in his life, and his mom taking them to brunch makes a little more sense. The little coil in his chest tightens and he breathes out heavily, thinking about Beth and Father's Day

It takes him a few minutes before he can respond.

 _Inoffensive, welcome, and no idea what's appropriate but I never care about that anyway. Thank you._

 

Puck feels a little less driven after work on Monday, and takes the time to pick up more books for Hannah and his mom at the library before retreating into his room once more. He's coming back to the sites about schools, now, and coming out, and it makes him uncomfortable again, unsettled in his skin. As soon as they all finish dinner, he decides to go for a run.

He doesn't generally bother exercising in the off-season. Football is fun, but it's not something that he expects to do after high school. He's not like Finn, wanting a football scholarship. So off-season conditioning isn't really on his radar. It strikes him, though, that for tonight, it's either running really fast or drinking, and the former is a lot easier, a lot cheaper, and a lot more legal.

He runs around most of what they call downtown Lima, back past the apartment building, and then runs the same route again. It takes him nearly an hour, and he showers as soon as he gets back inside the apartment, downing a glass of lemonade on his way.

It's easy to fall asleep after the exertion, especially since he woke up at 5 am that morning and will do so again the next morning.

 

When Puck leaves work on Tuesday afternoon, he's torn between heading towards Finn's and going home. He's been blowing people off for nearly a week, and part of him says that it's not really the best plan. The rest of him thinks he's still got a little more to do. A little more to work on in his mind.

He sets the timer on his phone for one hour and heads home.

He goes back to one of the first sites he looked at and reads the same paragraph again and again. He thinks that it's ironic–or maybe it's not irony, maybe it's just funny or weird or something–that Kurt's words from the week before are echoing in his head. _Sometimes it takes awhile to say out loud what we already know is true._

Puck pauses in the midst of typing and walks out of the room, into the bathroom, looking at himself in the mirror. He exhales.

"I can do this," he says out loud, feeling a little ridiculous. He takes a look at himself. For a long time, he carefully avoided doing certain things because they might be perceived as gay. He snorts, wanting to laugh at himself but not quite there yet. His clothes are a good example of that. He's never going to be some kind of fashion guru–he'll leave that to people who enjoy it, like Kurt–but his clothes, he can remember consciously thinking about buying clothes that aren't _too_ tight, or whatever.

Suddenly angry with himself again, he leaves the bathroom, taking off the clothes he's wearing and pulling on a different pair of jeans and a t-shirt that his mom accidentally shrunk. It still fits, it's just… tighter. Something he wouldn't let himself wear before.

He goes back into the bathroom and looks at himself again. He can't help ducking his head out the door, making sure his mom or sister hasn't somehow snuck into the house while he wasn't noticing, even though it's only 2:30 in the afternoon. Satisfied, he nods once and exhales loudly.

"I'm…" He clears his throat. _Fuck. Man up._ "I'm gay."

Nothing changes. The apartment is still silent, Puck's image in the mirror looks exactly the same. Puck presses his lip together momentarily and looks closely at himself. Nope, no flashing signs or sudden appearance of tattoos in rainbow colors.

Just him.

Just him, and the jittery feeling is gone.


End file.
